


Just in Time

by xxenjoy



Series: October prompts 2020 [7]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Hanahaki Disease, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:00:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26890282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxenjoy/pseuds/xxenjoy
Summary: One day I would like to maybe come back to this and fix it up/add more, but I just didn't have time to get out everything I wanted into it. Maybe I'll just write a whole new hanahaki fic (I've been meaning to for a while, anyway)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: October prompts 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950757
Comments: 11
Kudos: 230





	Just in Time

**Author's Note:**

> One day I would like to maybe come back to this and fix it up/add more, but I just didn't have time to get out everything I wanted into it. Maybe I'll just write a whole new hanahaki fic (I've been meaning to for a while, anyway)

Jaskier has imagined his death in many ways - at the hands of an angry spouse; quiet, in his bed as an old man; a stray downer - but never like this. Never sneaking off and choking up flower petals where Geralt can't see (or, hopefully, hear) him. The last thing he needs is for Geralt to try and help and to look further into what this is.

Jaskier knows, of course. He's knowledgeable in all aspects of love and up until his recent affliction had, like most poets, romanticized hanahaki disease. But knowing the only person who can cure your impending death is also the reason for it seems less romantic than the stories he'd been told as a child.

The worst part is that in all the years and all the stories, there is only one cure for the disease: requited love.

Jaskier sighs to himself as he plucks one last petal from between his lips. At the rate he's going, he'll have as much luck getting Yen to fall in love with him as Geralt.

He resigns himself to it. The petals took some getting used to, but the most difficult part now is keeping it from Geralt. He knows Geralt suspects something, and after months of this, there's no way he couldn't. The only reason he hasn't brought it up, Jaskier suspects, is for Jaskier's sake or for the sake of peace. It's not like it's getting any worse. 

It gets worse. 

Jaskier wakes up in the middle of the night, choking on petals. When he catches his breath, he takes a quick look around to ensure Geralt is still sleeping and, finding him still asleep, gathers up the petals and slips away from camp. He buries them at the edge of the forest, as he usually does, but this time when he drops the broken petals into the hole, he finds a bud. Just one. But his heart starts to beat a little quicker nonetheless. For months he's been holding steady with the petals, but a bud means the disease is progressing. 

Still, he can't let Geralt know. Geralt would only worry and demand to know what's wrong and, if Jaskier didn't tell him, likely take him to a healer and get it figured out himself. And once he _knew_ , gods, Jaskier can't even imagine what that would mean for him. If Geralt knew he was _in love_ would he want to know who with? Would he press if it meant making Jaskier better? He doesn't want to think about it at all. 

As with all things in his life, this eventually blows up in his face. 

He's performing at a banquet. A tavern would have been too casual, an inn too practical. No, it has to be a manor house surrounded by the wealthy and powerful - and worst of all, Geralt. He's halfway through a jig when he feels the tickling begin. He makes it through the end of the song by some miracle, before coughing and spluttering. He slaps a hand over his mouth but a few petals slip through his fingers as he makes a quick escape to the garden. 

Jaskier's hunched over a railing, coughing flowers into the flowerbeds below. For something so soft and delicate, they burn in his throat as though fighting their way out. A gentle hand presses against his back and Geralt slips up close.

"Jaskier," he says and he sounds worried, a tone reserved for... well, not him. 

"'M fine," he mumbles, but as soon as he opens his mouth another handful of petals spill from his lips. 

"Fuck. Jaskier." The hand on his back fists in his doublet, the other coming around to cover Jaskier's hand. "We have to get you to a healer."

"No," he insists. "Geralt-" he splutters and chokes on a loose petal and hangs his head. How does he explain there's no helping him? None at least that are worth the sacrifice. 

"Then Yennefer."

Jaskier turns, wiping his mouth as he lifts his head to look at him. Yen is the last person he wants to see in this state, but Geralt looks scared in a way Jaskier has never seen him before. 

"If it gets worse," he suggests.

"No," Geralt says, "before it gets worse." 

They argue about it on and off for a few weeks. It's an argument Jaskier doesn't win. 

Yennefer is none too pleased to see him, especially when she realizes he is the cause for their visit. She looks him over, clearly realizing something is up when Jaskier holds back a cough. 

"He's coughing up flowers," Geralt says, "I've never seen anything like it."

"Hanahaki," Yen sighs, crossing her arms across her chest. "Your bard is in love. Unrequited." Yen looks like she's about to say something more, but Jaskier looks up at her, pleading. He knows she knows what’s happening to him, but Geralt can't know. _Don't tell him_ , he begs silently. Yen gives him an odd look but she doesn't say anything. 

"Geralt," she says, "I need a moment with the bard." She keeps her eyes on Jaskier and the intensity of it is a little terrifying, but the alternative is much, much worse. As soon as Geralt is out of earshot, she sits across from him, crossing her legs and leaning on them. 

"You know," she says accusingly. 

"Yes."

"So why are you here? I can't imagine you came to enjoy my company?"

"I don't want him to worry."

Yen laughs at him. "Too late."

"Don't tell him."

"That you'll die?"

"Yes."

"Why not try to cure it?" Yen's eyes narrow skeptically and Jaskier sighs. 

"My beloved will never return my feelings, nor would I expect them to."

"There's another option," she insists though Jaskier can't fathom why. 

"I will never fall out of love, not this time." He looks down, focusing too hard on his boots and Yen scoffs. 

"Then you're a fool," Yen snaps, rising to her feet. 

"Then I suppose I shall die a fool, but please don't tell him."

"If he asks, I won't lie." She leaves the room and Jaskier sighs, dropping his chin against his chest. 

"Wouldn't expect anything less," he mumbles. For a few minutes, he sits in silence before realizing Yen isn't coming back. He gathers himself up and leaves the little hut, making his way back to where Geralt is waiting. 

"What did she say?" he asks and Jaskier only shrugs. 

"Nothing to be done, I'm afraid. We'll have to wait for it to go away on its own."

It doesn't go away, nor does Jaskier ever expect it to. If anything, he's resigned himself to a slow death so long as he can spend his remaining days with Geralt. And he does. 

Geralt takes care of him now that he's not hiding it any longer, ensuring he's always warm and well-fed. They'll stop early for the night when Jaskier has a bad fit and Geralt will take care of the rest of the duties around camp. Jaskier is torn. He feels guilty for letting Geralt do so much for him when he's not doing anything to try and make himself better. But a part of him relishes the attention, wishes that it was the way they always were - or at least some of the time. At the same time, he realizes the only reason Geralt is acting like this at all is because Jaskier is sick. 

He does everything he can to help and Jaskier just gets worse. He sees the toll it takes on Geralt, how every moment he's not hunting becomes dedicated to Jaskier. And Jaskier tries not to let him, but Geralt is having none of it. And Jaskier gets worse. 

It's a cold autumn night when Geralt realizes his efforts are doing no good. They're at an inn, in a single bed because Geralt won't let him get very far away anymore. Jaskier is facing the wall, his back to Geralt's chest when he finally hears the words he's been dreading.

"It's not going to get better, is it?" Geralt's voice is soft but seems like thunder in his ears and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut. 

"No, darling, it's not."

Geralt's arm tightens a little around him, though Jaskier suspects it's a reflex. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't want to worry you. I was hoping you'd be gone for the winter before it got this bad."

"I won't leave you like this," Geralt rumbles, "there must be something I can do." 

Jaskier could cry at the injustice of it all. He wants to tell Geralt the truth, but he can't put that on him, can't put his death on Geralt's hands. Already, he's sure Geralt will blame himself for it. 

"There's nothing, my dear. It's enough to have you here."

Geralt curls around him nose pressed into his hair. Jaskier has to fight back tears, curling around himself as he struggles to catch his breath. His throat is raw from hacking up blooms and he hasn't told Geralt, but they've been more frequent recently and complete with stems and leaves. More than one at a time. 

He shuts his eyes and presses into Geralt's warmth, taking care to pay attention to every little detail of Geralt's body against his own. It's so unfair that this is all he has ever wanted and he knows now that he won't live to see the morning. This isn't the way he thought he'd go, but he can't think of a much better way, really. Geralt is soft and warm around him and he listens to the sound of his breath as he slowly drifts off to sleep. 

In the morning he's... still alive. He's not sure how because he was so sure of the end, more than he'd been sure of anything. He takes a deep breath to measure the strain and there... nothing. He breathes easily for the first time in months and his heart starts pounding because he still loves Geralt. He can feel the warmth of his body around him, entangled with him and it seeps into his bones. Which means...

His eyes snap open, immediately focusing on Geralt's eyes before him. He can't breathe, but oddly this seems more familiar. 

"It was me," Geralt mumbles and Jaskier can feel his lips twitch just slightly. "You almost died, Jaskier, why didn't you tell me?"

Jaskier reaches up, winding both arms around Geralt's neck and drawing him closer. "I didn't want you to blame yourself, darling." Geralt looks conflicted, like he wants to say something, but doesn't know what, so Jaskier interrupts. "Geralt?" he whispers, "tell me you mean it."

"I mean it. I'm sorry it took so long." He tips forward, pressing his lips to Jaskier's. When he draws back, he's smiling and Jaskier will never forget the way he looks now with the morning sun shining in on his face. 

"Darling, you were just in time."


End file.
